Fated
by Rookblonkorules
Summary: No matter what happened, it was inevitable. Come hell or high water, Dick and Barbara were always going to come back to each other. Dick/Babs. Past Dick/Kory. NO character bashing.


**Note: **First off, I would like to extend a huge thank you both to Meritt and Purplehood, who have been tremendously helpful. This story is the result of a challenge with Meritt and I don't know where it would be without either of them.

**Pairing:**Dick/Babs, past Dick/Kory

* * *

Dick's not sure at what point his thoughts brought him back to the Manor.

He just knows that- at some point- they did.

He straightens his collar and runs a hand through his hair. Brushes a hand over the front of his shirt. Pointless ministrations. Like anyone here will care what he looks like.

Dick hesitates, finger hovering just inches away from the doorbell.

It doesn't matter if he decides to leave now. His presence has already been recorded on the 24-hour surveillance cameras.

He leans his head back and squeezes his eyes shut, well aware that his apprehension is ridiculous. It's just that… the last time he had seen Bruce, the man had just about bitten his head off.

That had been two years ago.

Two years… How had he let it last that long? He and Bruce should have overcome this far earlier.

If he's lucky, it will be Alfred who opens the door. He may want to reconcile with Bruce, but he's not entirely sure he wants to the first face he sees when that door opens to be Bruce's.

It's not Alfred who opens the door when he rings, however.

It's not even Bruce.

Barbara stands in the doorway. Her hair is a mess, pulled back into a sloppy ponytail and her face is flushed, highlighting the smattering of freckles dotting the bridge of her nose.

She's the last person Dick expected to see.

She's the last person Dick is _ready _to see.

"'What are you doing here?" Dick asks. His feet feel like they've frozen in place on the _Welcome!_ mat. The words are out of his mouth before he really has the time to think that maybe that really isn't the way to greet your best friend.

He almost flinches, almost tries to apologize, but the sight of her has brought about a clenching in his stomach and he's confused.

"A simple hello would have been nice." Barbara steps out of the way and lets him enter. "Welcome back."

"Yeah." Dick steps in, angling his head to take in… everything. All of it.

The wide open halls

She turns her back on him, leading him into the mansion, and Dick follows her without question.

This is… this is his home and… it's been so long. It's been so _long._

Two years with the Titans. Two years away from his family and yet, in that time, he'd found a new family.

"Bruce had some new software he was installing to the computer… downstairs," Barbara says, answering his question from before. She stops and Dick realizes that they're in the kitchen.

There's the welcoming smell of coffee in the air and it stirs a rumble in Dick's stomach.

He hasn't eaten breakfast yet- hadn't had the time to- and, suddenly, he's acutely aware of that fact.

"I was just coming up for a cup of coffee when you rang," she explains.

That might explain why neither Bruce or Alfred have come up. He knows there are security cameras both outside the door and inside the hall, so they have to know he's here by now.

The idea that they're giving them both a moment of privacy together makes his cheeks burn for a reason he can't quite discern.

They've been best friends since… forever. Since that night at Bruce's charity gala. Since before his stint with the Titans.

He's the one who got back at Bobby Miller for sticking gum in Barbara's braid, for calling her ugly because her hair was so _red._

She's the one who refused to speak to Cullen Monroe _ever again_ for punching Dick in the face out of jealousy when he thought he'd had to compete with him for Barbara's affections.

They'd always had the other's back.

Until he'd run away. From his problems. From Bruce.

From her.

But now he was back and he couldn't help but hope that maybe… maybe they could go back and it could be the same again.

But there's two years of differences between them now.

_Jealousy._

At the time, it had seemed so preposterous. But maybe now he can see how it _had _seemed that way back then.

He pulls one of the chairs back and sits, rocking back out of habit. Almost immediately, he stops, the echo of Alfred's gentle chastisements reverberating through his skull.

Barbara bustles about the kitchen. He hears the clink of several ceramic mugs she pulls from the cupboards.

He shifts. "You need me to help you out?"

"With coffee?" She sounds a little miffed that he's asked her, and Dick smirks. That's his Babs. But then she softens. "No, I'm good. You look exhausted."

Dick can't argue with that. He's feeling pretty exhausted right about now.

"I think some coffee would help with that," he says. He folds his arms on the table and rests his head, only poking it back up when Barbara sets a mug of coffee in front of him and takes the seat beside him.

He wraps his hand around it, drawing it closer to him almost protectively. "Thanks," he says.

"So…" she says, a little awkwardly, taking a sip. "How's life… with the Titans? I haven't heard from you in a while. How's Kory?"

Dick's hand tightens around the mug and he sucks in a breath. "She's not… we're not… we're not together anymore."

"Oh!" Barbara draws back, looking startled and horrified at the same time. "Oh, Dick! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean…!"

"No." Dick shakes his head, his voice husky. "No, it's fine." It's not fine. "I just… She's getting married. To someone else. On Tamaran." He takes a shaky breath. "She… she said we could still see each other. That she wanted to. But I said no. I broke it off, Babs. I couldn't. I couldn't see a married woman."

He runs a trembling hand through his hair, trying to sort through his jumbled emotions.

."I don't know what to do," he finally confesses. The end of his sentence hitches on a whine. "I don't know what to do."

His heart clenches painfully in his chest. He feels helpless. He's just lost Kory. He feels like he's drowning, lost in the ocean and the waves are pulling him down.

Barbara's warm hand slides over his own. Anchoring him.

His eyes snap up, meeting her vibrant green ones.

Barbara opens her mouth. She hesitates. Her jaw shuts with a click and she squeezes his hand a little tighter.

Dick drops his head to the table, resting his cheek against the smooth wood. The tears he hasn't realized he's been holding back finally slide free and he closes his eyes.

Her slim fingers find his hair, carding gently through the loose strands.

Their fingers twine together.

She holds him and he lets her.

Together, they sit in silence.

* * *

It's happening again.

That feeling where he can't breath, pressure building up in his chest, filling up his lungs.

He can't breath.

The situation is so similar to the one he found himself in weeks ago, only now… now it's a different door he stands before.

His hand feels like a nerveless lump of lead when he brings it to fall against the door.

It opens as he brings his hand back for the third time.

His hand falls limply to his side.

"Babs," he whispers. "I came as soon as you called. What happened? What…?" His voice breaks off, throat constricting. He wants to choke. "_How?"_

Barbara opens her mouth, but all she manages is a stricken shake of her head.

Her eyes are red and swollen, the tip of her nose tinged pink. Crushed in the hand hanging by her side is a ball of tissue. White paper peeks at him from between her fingertips.

Barbara shakes her head wordlessly, before throwing herself at Dick.

She wraps her arms tightly around his neck, crushing her face against his shoulder. She shudders and gasps as violent sobs wracked her body.

Dick's arms encircle her, pulling her against his chest. Tears are running down his own face.

His knees give out on him and he collapses to the floor, pulling Barbara down with him.

She offers no resistance, falling bonelessly against him.

He holds her tightly, crying desperately into her hair.

Her fingers bunch in the fabric of his shirt, twisting it into her fists.

Barbara's sobs finally fade to quiet gasps. She lets herself rock back on her heels, grinding the palms of her hands against her eyes.

Dick keeps a hand on her shoulder. Steadying her or steadying himself. At this point, he's not sure he can tell the difference.

His vision is swimming dangerously and he rubs the back of his hand across his face.

"Here." He climbs shakily to his feet, taking Barbara by the hand.

Barbara draws in a shuddering breath and accepts his aid getting back to her feet. Her face is blotchy and red.

Dick wraps one arm around her waist to keep her steady and guides her gently back inside the apartment.

"Why don't-" he ignores the way his voice shakes, the way he feels like he'll shatter into a million ice crystals at any given moment, "why don't we sit down?"

Barbara nods her head. She's holding onto him so tightly he's starting to ache a bit.

He helps to the couch, lowering himself down beside her.

Barbara chokes a little, burying her face in her hands.

"What happened, Barbara?" Dick asks quietly, unable to fully keep the horror from his voice. Because all he can think of is _Jason. _Smart Jason. Arrogant, headstrong, brash, smart Jason. The Jason who replaced him. The Jason he never really bothered to get to know because he was _angry. _

Jason who was only fifteen years old. Who _had been _only fifteen years old.

Jason who was dead.

"What was he thinking? Why would he…?"

"His mother," Barbara cuts in. "He was… he wanted to find his mother. That's what Bruce told me. He… He…" Her hands are twisting and untwisting in her lap. "His neighbor had given him a box of old stuff from his apartment. There was a birth certificate in there."

Dick's insides clench together.

"I thought Catherine was his mother," he whispers dully.

"Apparently not." A bitter laugh escapes Barbara and she tilts her head back, staring up at the ceiling.

Dick stares up too.

It's nothing special. Just a cream-colored off white. A wooden fan spins lazily.

Around and around.

Around and around

Why does it feel like a metaphor for his life?  
He swallows, painfully.

"There was this other woman. Sheila Heywood. And there were a lot of… details. But the important thing is that Jason found out she was currently located in Ethiopia."

"Ethiopia," Dick breathes.

_Ethiopia._

He hadn't know… That _far._

What was she doing so far away?

"She was a doctor," Barbara explains. She starts twisting a strand of hair around her fingers. "She was… doing charity work." The way Barbara spits it out, it's as if that wasn't a good thing.

Dick finds himself wondering why, but he doesn't ask.

Sheila's not the one he wants to hear about. Jason is.

"Except she was also wanted in Gotham. For… for performing an illegal procedure on a teenage girl. The girl died."

Dick's insides tighten with horror and he grinds his knuckles against his thighs.

There's a pause, a lull, and Dick can hear the blood pounding in his ears. His head feels weighed down with lead. It's all he can do to keep his focus.

Jason's mother.

Ethiopia…

Somehow it all ended up with Jason dead.

"The Joker was there."

Dick's jaw drops open. He stares dully at the wall ahead.

_The Joker. Joker was there. Joker._

_No._

Barbara's hand finds his and she gives him a squeeze.

Dick doesn't squeeze back. His fingers rest limply on his thigh.

She doesn't let go.

"He was blackmailing Sheila and… we don't know what happened. Somehow Jason found out. He went after her."  
Bile rises in Dick's throat.

_Oh, Jason, no._

"Joker killed him." Here, Barbara's voice breaks. She pulls her knees to her chest and sobs. "He… Dick, it wasn't quick. Bruce didn't… he couldn't tell me everything. But it wasn't quick. He would have…" She's babbling, shaking so hard Dick wants to take her and hold her tightly.

But he doesn't.

A sharp intake of breath is all Dick can manage. His insides knot together. He feels sick. He wants to scream, he want to throw up, he wants to deal death to the monster who dared to murder a fifteen year old boy.

To _torture _him.

Muted grief rises in Dick's throat. Grief, anger, _hatred._

He- he hopes that bastard burns in _hell_ for this.

Tears burn the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision, and suddenly, with a cry of rage, he's leapt to his feet, grabbing the first item within reach and hurling it with all his strength.

It shatters against the wall.

What he has thrown, it turns out, is a coffee mug.

Coffee and all.

Coffee is splattered on the table, on the floor.

Against the wall.

Barbara is staring, mouth agape.

He thinks she might be in shock.

He thinks _he _might be in shock.

"Babs, I…" he stammers his way through what he thinks -_hopes- _is a halfway decent apology.

"Dick, _stop,"_ Barbara orders, and finally, _finally,_ her voice has some snap to it and she doesn't sound so… broken. "I don't give a damn about the mug. I just…" She buries her face in her hands. "I just want him back."

Dick clenches his jaw, staring down at her.

Something painful burns its way up his throat.

"I just want him back."

He drops stiffly on the couch beside her, ashamed of himself. Ashamed of his actions. Ashamed of his inactions.

Because… he hadn't been there for Jason. He had ignored him. He was angry at Bruce for replacing him and that trickled down to Jason.

The boy who had no family, who had only Bruce, Alfred and Barbara.

And Dick.

If he had been there.

Selfish.

Selfish is what he had been.

He'd been too caught up in his own feelings of betrayal that he'd ignored a young boy who desperately needed to feel like he'd found a family.

And now that boy is dead.

It's sickening really.

He hadn't been there for Jason.

But, pushing aside his pain, his guilt, he's going to be there for Barbara.

"Babs," he whispers. Tentatively, he lays a hand on her trembling shoulders.

_I just want him back._

He wraps his arm around her, pulling her against his chest.

Holding her as she cries.

He cries with her.

* * *

She's so still, Dick thinks when he sees her. Unnaturally still. Her vibrant colors muted.

The light in the room is searing. Bright yellow. It hurts Dick's eyes when he enters the room and he wonders how anyone gets any rest in a place like this.

The light, the sharp, antiseptic smell that gets inside his nostrils and clings there- it's enough to drive anyone mad.

As if the worry- the dread, the fear- hasn't done that enough already.

Despite the light, there are shadows lurking in the corner. Shadows that dance and flicker when the light shifts even fractionally.

Like spectral figures, waiting to twine their fingers around the fading spirits of the dead and dying.

If he hadn't known better, he would have thought she was dead.

That they had already claimed her.

Dick's heart is in his throat.

There's only one chair and it's empty.

It feels so, so wrong that she should lay here alone with no one to keep her company, to watch over her and keep her safe. Protect her the way she should have been protected when the Joker showed up at her door.

But her father is in his own hospital bed.

The Joker went after them both.

First Jason, now the Gordons.

When does it end?

Jason is dead and Barbara- Barbara will never walk again.

It needs to end.

He sits in the chair with a heavy air of finality.

Gently, he takes her limp hand in his, brushing his thumb against her knuckles.

"I'm here, Barbara." He clutches her hand tightly in his own, terrified to let go. Suddenly, irrationally, afraid that if he lets her go, the spectres will snatch her away (the way they snatched Jason) and he'll never get to see her again. "I'm here."

And he's not going anywhere.

* * *

He's nervous. The butterflies in his stomach, heart skipping a beat in his chest kind of nervous.

And it all has to do with the damn bunch of flowers in his hand.

He glances down at them and realizes that he's crushing the fragile stalks in his fists.

Slowly, he unclenches his fist, shifting his hold to one more gentle.

He raises his other fist-

-and knocks.

Dick tugs at his collar, feeling ridiculously self-conscious standing here in the hallway.

His palms are sweating and he wipes his free hand off on his jeans.

Suddenly, he wonders if he should maybe have dressed a little nicer for the occasion, but this- this isn't really an _occasion._

The seconds drag on and he bounces on the balls of his toes.

_She's not coming. She's not coming. She doesn't want to see me. _

It's too soon. Too soon after everything that's happened.

But the thing is, Dick doesn't think _he _can wait any longer.

After everything- almost losing her to the Joker's bullet- he doesn't want to waste another second. Not when they're only human. Not when all it would have taken was a bullet a couple inches higher in the chest to take her away from him for good.

It's… unbelievably selfish of him.

He looks down at the flowers in his hands, wondering silently how they'll be interpreted.

Dick takes a faltering step back.

Maybe he should leave. He should give her her space.

The door clicks open before he can completely reconcile himself to the idea of leaving.

It's too late.

"Dick?"

She's… his breath hitches, something in his chest twisting painfully.

Her eyes flicker from his face to the flowers in his hand.

"Um… are you okay?" she asks gently. "Dick?"

"Yeah, I… I…" He looks down at the flowers in his hand. He runs the other hand through his hair. "Can we… can we talk?"

* * *

**Note:** I haven't read many stories surrounding Dick and his days with the Teen Titans, or his relationship with Koriand'r. To be frank, I wasn't interested in either.

I like Dick better as his own man as Nightwing in Bludhaven. I like him better with Barbara. So if there's anything I got off (for example, I'm not sure how long Dick spent with the Titans), I apologize.


End file.
